


The Post-Modern Prometheus

by scullywolf



Series: TXF: Scenes in Between [102]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor, MSR, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:57:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullywolf/pseuds/scullywolf





	The Post-Modern Prometheus

_“I think we found our smoking gun.”_  


Foggy. Everything was foggy. Like he was hungover but still drunk at the same time. Whose bright idea had it been to go charging into a house filled with noxious smoke, anyway?

Oh, right. His.

For all the good it had done them, done anyone. They hadn’t been able to prevent anything from happening to Mrs. Pollidori, they were no closer to catching whoever or whatever was responsible, and they were probably going to catch hell after failing to check in with Washington for nearly two days. On top of everything, he had just been witty and not a single person had laughed.

Empty peanut butter jar. Smoking gun. Come on, it was funny.

Or maybe it wasn’t? Suddenly he wasn’t sure. He needed to sit down again.

“Mulder, don’t you see? That ‘smoking gun’ is nothing more than, than set dressing.”

He shook his head, which he instantly regretted.

“But Scully, we both saw how that sandwich lured the creature out of the woods, how it was drawn to it. And there was the empty jar at the Berkowitz house after Shaineh’s experience. For whatever reason, this creature seems to have a clear obsession with peanut butter.”

“Or, that is exactly what the perpetrator of this hoax wants you to think. We’ve been fed a carefully calculated backstory that is just as fictional as any so-called ‘evidence’ we may find to support it.”

“I know what I saw--” he started to say, but he was interrupted by Dr. Pollidori.

“If you are quite finished with your questions, my wife has been through an ordeal, and I will thank you to continue your conversation elsewhere.”

“Sir, your wife should be checked out at the hospital, just as a precaution,” Scully said, then sighed. “As should we, probably,” she murmured, and Mulder had a hard time thinking of anything he wanted to do less at just that moment.

 _March in a parade. Go for a run. Talk to Skinner._ Okay, not such a hard time, but still, all he wanted to do was go back to the motel, have a hot shower and something to eat and, though it was really counterintuitive given that he’d apparently spent the better part of 48 hours unconscious, take a nap.

“Scully, I think that we need to go back to the motel and, uh, regroup. We know that Shaineh Berkowitz hasn’t suffered any lasting ill effects from her exposure to the smoke, so I think we can safely assume that we won’t, either. You, uh, probably want to get Mrs. Pollidori a pregnancy test, though.” He stood again, wavered. He cleared his throat and tilted his chin to address the officer standing on the other side of the living room. “Sheriff, would you mind giving us a ride to our motel and getting one of your deputies to bring our rental car over?”

“Sure can do that, Mr. Mulder.”

“Doctor Pollidori, we may need to take a further statement from you or your wife in the coming days, so please let us know if you plan to leave town,” Scully said before turning back to face him. “Come on, Mulder. Let’s go.”

He reached behind him to the stove, grabbing the frying pan and carrying it over to the sheriff.

“Evidence,” he said, holding it out. “Send that out for analysis on that residue, would you?”

The sheriff looked skeptical, but took the pan and nodded. “Sure thing. Will do.”

Riding in the back of the sheriff’s squad car, Mulder was nauseated before they’d even made it half a mile, and he had to close his eyes, leaning his head against the window. Fortunately, it wasn’t more than a five-minute drive back to the motel, and after making sure that Scully got safely back into her room, he stumbled through the doorway into his own. His head was finally starting to clear, but the general weariness was profound, and he struggled to kick off his shoes, the second one hitting the wall with a bang. Leaving a trail of cast off clothing en route to the bathroom, he turned the shower on hot and stood there, letting the water run over him and rinse away the smoke residue from his hair and face.

The shower served to restore him rather a bit, and by the time he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist, he was significantly more alert. He dried off, pulled on clean clothes with no small measure of relief, and was reaching for the phone to check in on Scully when his phone rang.

“Y-yeah? Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Better. You?”

“Better too, yeah. The last of the effects feel like they’ve worn off.”

“Same. Though now I can definitely tell that I haven’t eaten anything in two days.”

“That’s part of why I was calling, actually. I was going to order food in, but it looks like the only place in town that delivers is pizza.”

“You say that like it’s a problem, Scully.”

She laughed, just a little. “I only meant that there aren’t a lot of options. Should I order the usual, then?”

“You know what I like, G-woman. I’ll be over in a few.”

He hung up the phone and sat up to stretch his back, groaning. Shower? Check. Food? Pending. Nap? Less of an immediate concern now, but if he happened to nod off in Scully’s room once his belly was full of bread and cheese and sausage, so be it.  



End file.
